Saturday, January 28, 2012

Posted by Deb Markanton at 12:20 AM

13 comments:

  1. She went through life with an edge; a snarkiness that was as much her attitude as her defense mechanism. Josie McElroy, broke the mold when she broke away from conventional mores. She was her own person. She was no one's "girl". Josie made the rules.

    The men who came along served to amuse Josie. She loved to watch them fawn all over her, and stumble over their own feet in an effort to draw her attention, not to mention earn her favor.

    But the only favor she ever did for them was mercifully letting them down as soon as they had served their usefulness. Nothing gave her more pleasure than watching their sorry faces as they gathered their hurt feelings and shuffled away rejected and dejected. She drew more satisfaction from suitors off with their tails between their legs than anything else that ever filled that void.

    Josie had her heart broken more times than served her sense of worth. If she allowed someone, some man, to break her down in such a way, she knew that turning the tables could reverse her fortune. It indeed gave her a sense of power.

    Strong and driven, she wouldn't let someone else dictate her emotion. She would no longer "sweat the small stuff". Josie assumed control of Josie. She decided that no one would make her feel inferior. She would put her panties on, one leg at a time. If she decided to wear them at all

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  2. Walt - I think you just created the most interesting woman in the world. Brava!

    And Deb, sorry - I didn't see that you had posted today or else I would have timed my to come out tomorrow. Great prompt, 'though!

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  3. Wasted all that time on poetry and had these characters stewing in the back of my mind. I've got to write more fiction.

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    2. It should be a good format for you Walt. A lot of your poems have that 'story' quality to them. Taking that extra 'room' that prose allows will really let your characters develop. Like this one for instance. Well written.

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  4. Two days late, but I am in.

    She smiled as she picked though the shoebox of old photos, and marveled at how memory plays tricks with you. Actually, it is the feelings associated with the memory that appear to be fluid.
    The last time she had looked at these pictures had been ten years ago. Her kids had been in pre-school and they were still considered a young couple starting out and the photos just a few years old. They depicted a different time for her: a time of late nights and martinis, a frivolity that bordered on promiscuous. Fun was the priority and was often graded by the volume of drinks and song. A good time that she remembered fondly, almost longed for, ten years ago.
    Today the pictures stirred other emotions. She was still young enough to remember the fun and think warmly of the friends she shared those times with. Ten years, however, had changed her attitude somewhat. What was harmless fun then, she now considered dangerous behavior; probably a result of her children growing into their late teens and being exposed to more and more every day. Drugs had not been part of their parties; that was a different crowd. ‘Meth’ was not a word and online stalking and bullying had not been invented.
    She worried for her children and what they would have to face. As with most parents, she hoped they would avoid the mistakes she made; be safer, not take the risk she had. Still, some of the memories were strong and brought a smile. Some could even still make her blush as she glanced at her husband across the room and thought of that time she had surprised him….

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    1. Playful and fun, Mark. I think it's funny that we both somehow used the word "shoebox." ;)

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  5. Mark, you are correct, and most assuredly "IN". Nice work.

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  6. Commando


    Women who behave rarely make history. Women who behave rarely make history. Women who behave…

    It becomes a mantra. A battle call. A manifesto of the heart.
    Because this is war.

    Seriously, who thought up this torture device, this tiny sliver of string designed to go…there? Men, that’s who.

    As she packs them all into the shoebox, the color palette seems innocent enough…pink and turquoise and navy and red and white and black. Gorgeous colors for shoes, gauzy blouses, normal proportioned underthings. She flings these miniscule marvels one by one into the box, cushioned by tissue paper and the steady stream of curse words pouring from her angry tongue. 27 pairs in all. 27 pairs. Not one rose, ever, but 27 pairs of violating undergarments symbolizing the three long months he has strung her along, leaving these bits of satin, silk, and (seriously?) lace in his wake. The last pair – microscopic, but for the glaringly hot pink leopard print – she folds most carefully, and puts the lid in place.

    Ties on the black ribbon. Scrawls “Return to Sender” across the lid.

    Leaves it on his doorstep. Rings the bell.
    And runs for her life, making him history.

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    1. fantastic and hilarious. (this lesson was taught to me early in my marriage. some of us CAN be taught) :-)

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    2. Thanks, Mark. Smart man. ;) My hot hubbie learned quickly, also.

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  7. I'm a little late responding here, too. I'm currently on a birthday vacation in Las Vegas. Not getting my panties in a bunch. LOL
    Oh! I love all of these!! But De...perfect, absolutely perfect. Mark, you married a very smart woman. LOL

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  8. Deb, I LIVE in Vegas (Henderson area). ;) Thanks for your comment. Happy Birthday, and have a blast!

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